iHate You
by 1000th Ghost
Summary: Contrary to Seddie shippers' beliefs, neither Sam nor Freddie have hidden feelings for the other. They also will never suddenly realize that they are madly in love. They hate each other with a passion. ...this is what makes them such a perfect pairing.


**iHate You**

**By: 1000th Ghost**

*This story is dedicated to my cousin because she's a Creddie fan and must be converted. And to Briana with whom I have dissected a VCR. And Bobby for writing a sentence.*

Freddie loved Carly.

He had since forever and would until the day he died.

Carly did not love Freddie.

She never had and never would.

There was another one, though.

Freddie hated Sam.

He had since forever and would until the day he died.

Sam hated Freddie.

She always had and always would.

But Freddie's hatred for Sam was greater than his love for Carly, and thus he and the blond were somehow inevitably intertwined. Destined to be together, if you will. Which honestly made no sense whatsoever.

* * *

"So…the cantaloupe bit or the one where we dissect a VCR?" Carly questioned.

"I think the VCR thing is-"

"Yeah, no one cares about your 'thinks'," Sam interrupted, dipping her finger into the root beer float she was consuming and swiping the foamy cream across the boy's nose.

"Hey!" Freddie protested, jumping up from the couch he had been sharing with the demon girl. "She creamed me!"

Sam shoved a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth to attempt to stifle her chuckle. It failed, and she ended up half-choking. Freddie couldn't help but smile at her discomfort as he watched her sputter and cough, until Carly remarked-

"You're laughing because it sounds wrong, aren't you?"

Sam nodded, grinning even as she fought to get her breath back.

Freddie glanced back and forth between the girls, obviously confused. "Wait, what sounded wro-?"

"'Creamed'," Sam said simply, finally able to talk. She shoveled in another spoonful.

"B-but…that's not what I…" Freddie stuttered, turning beet-red.

Sam commented that he looked like a gigantic zit, and Carly merely shook her head, smiled, and sighed, "Oh, Sam."

"Oh, yes," Sam agreed. She nonchalantly downed the remaining root beer then threw the plastic cup and spoon to Freddie.

He surprisingly managed to catch both and stared at the items in his hands as if wondering how they suddenly got there. "Whatcha do that for?"

The blond shrugged. "I was finished. Why would I want to keep holding them?"

Freddie groaned, and Carly yanked the cup and spoon out of his hands and roughly placed them on the coffee table.

"_Seriously_, guys, iCarly's tomorrow, and we still don't have the last skit totally together."

"Hmm…" Sam pondered. "Well, we could dissect Freddork instead of the VCR."

"Quit it, Puckett!"

"I mean, really, who has a VCR anymore anyway? Where would we find one?" Sam persisted. "Whereas this odd specimen is _right here_-"

"Can we please pummel _her _with cantaloupes instead of the-"

"Watch it, Benson."

Sam was angry, and Freddie knew it, so he shut up. Always a smart decision.

"I already told you, Spencer said Socko has a spare VCR he'll let us use," Carly said, tuning out the constant bickering.

"I know, but the idea of Freddie and little, sharp scalpels was too heartwarming to not suggest. I mean, he's fifteen, he'll heal quickly…ish."

"I'm serious, Sam!" Freddie shouted, sitting on the couch again and jabbing a finger at her. "One more word, and I'll-"

"Oh, you'll what," Sam stated lazily, slapping his finger away.

He cradled his now throbbing hand and sunk back into the couch's cushions dejectedly.

"Okay!" Carly gestured to the door. "I'm just gonna go run get some cantaloupes from the…cantaloupe…store…or wherever…anyone want to come with?"

"Does it require movement?"

"Yes, Sam, it requires movement."

"Then, no."

"Aw!" Freddie exclaimed. "I _can't _go; my mom said I have to stay here while she's at the beauty parlor!"

"'Beauty parlor'?"

"Who says 'beauty parlor'?"

"Make her go with you!" Freddie continued. "Who knows what kind of…_vicious_ things she'll do if she's left alone with me?"

"I think you'll survive," Carly said matter-of-factly, already heading out the door. Then she turned and looked back at Sam. "_Do _let him survive, okay?"

Sam smiled (sweetly or creepily, depending on one's point of view) and held up her crossed index and middle fingers. "Sure thing, Carls!"

Carly rolled her eyes and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

Sam and Freddie turned to each other.

It would be nice to be able to say that a common notion of understanding passed between them, or a certain, meaningful glace was shared, or they verbally expressed a concrete reason (or, at the very least, a preconceived thought) for what they did next. But none of this existed, which is terribly unrealistic and out of character. For these two, however, it somehow worked.

Neither one initiated it (for if one had, it would imply that he/she had pent up, unrequited quote unquote "feelings" for the other, which was laughably far from the truth). They (literally) simultaneously lunged at each other and crashed their lips together with such ferociousness that it was surprising someone didn't lose a tooth. Each had only been kissed once before (unless one considered the Melanie thing…which was still a rather confusing and unofficially taboo subject), which excused their over-eagerness/distastefulness. They weren't pretty kissers.

Princess Puckett kissed like a meat-obsessed juvenile delinquent, and Fredweird kissed like a tech geek with an over-protective mother.

It was kind of perfect (in an "Um…?" way).

His hands only lingered on her waist for a moment before losing interest with this activity and sliding up the inside of the back of her shirt. She mentally debated whether or not to slap him if he journeyed to her bra strap, but for now he seemed content with simply stroking her skin.

"Stupid Freddie," she thought smugly. "He can't even summon up enough courage to do anything that wouldn't be in a Dingo movie. When he should know that of _all _people, _I _would be able to handle-"

Her train of thought was cut off as he drove his way into her mouth, practically ramming his tongue down her throat. He turned and forced her against the back of the couch.

His fingers dug into her back as he pressed himself to her. He smiled into the kiss as she gasped – subsequently causing her breasts to rub deliciously against his chest.

Okay, so maybe the kid did have a backbone. Nothing that she couldn't counterattack, of course.

"_Sam_!" he choked, breaking their lip lock and gaping at her incredulously when her hand slipped under the band of his khaki pants.

"Hmm…so, you _are _a guy. I always wondered," was all she said before wrapping her fingers around his hardened shaft and brining her lips to his again.

This time he was not as responsive and did little but moan as her hand moved up and down. She didn't mind and took the opportunity to explore his mouth as roughly as he had done to her.

Suddenly, his breath hitched, and he stuttered, "S-Sam, I'm…I'm gonna…" and she removed her hand and grinned at him wickedly.

"Sam!"

She couldn't decide if he sounded more disappointed or furious. Either one was satisfactory, and she waved her now idle hand in front of his aghast eyes.

Suppressing a growl, he gripped her shoulders and flung her to the seat of the couch. She could have, of course, easily overpowered him or simply not allowed him to lie on top of her, but she felt no need to do so.

His hands came to her waist again but this time grabbed the bottom of her shirt and started tugging upwards. She arched her back to let the material slide away, and once it was removed, he tossed the article somewhere over his shoulder. He lifted her bra over her head without even bothering to unhook it, indignantly muttered, "Let's see how _you _like it," and brought his mouth to her already erect right nipple.

She lay perfectly motionless, stubbornly determined to not give a single sign of enjoyment. After a couple minutes, he raised his head to her level and smirked.

"No?"

She exaggerated a fake yawn.

"Alright then."

His hand snaked down her stomach, paused momentarily to unbutton her jeans, and dipped inside.

If he felt the twinge of desire that jolted through her, he gave no indication of it. The pair maintained what could best be described as a staring contest. Their eyes never strayed from each other's (his cocky, hers apathetic) as he worked on her core.

"Oh, come on, Sam," he finally murmured, catching her scowling lips briefly with his own. "You _know _you like it."

She did, and she decided their game was stupid, and her eyes rolled back in her head as a moan tore from her throat.

He laughed. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Shaddup, Freddie, I'm gon' kill you," she slurred. Breathing was becoming difficult; actual intelligent speech was futile.

The door opened.

"Hey, the cantaloupes were overripe, so I got honeyde-"

"**LEAVE!**" the two screamed simultaneously, and Carly shrieked and ran out again, slamming the door behind her.

"Okay, I'm giving you _one _minute to get presentable," they heard her say from the other side of the door, "and then I'm coming in and…and, oh, my gosh, _what_?" She paused. "An explanation! There'd better be a pretty enormous explanation…"

As her rambling continued, they sat up rather calmly. Sam buttoned her jeans and put on her bra, which had landed on the floor next to her.

"Fredly, give me my shirt."

He didn't, so she stood up and walked to the other side of the couch to get it, smacking him upside the head as she did so.

When Carly walked in and demanded, "Why?" they simply shrugged. But what was the _reason_?, they _hated _each other!, it didn't make _sense_! They shrugged again and again as there was no explanation.

* * *

Sam and Freddie were married after Freddie's last year of graduate school. Sam wanted the tax incentive, Freddie's mother wanted a traditional wedding.

"Do you, Samantha Puckett, take Fredward Benson to be your lawful wedded husband? Will you love, honor, cherish, and obey him from this day forward for as long as you both shall live?"

Sam paused her picking at the scratchy, white lace on her arms to blanch at the world's fattest priest.

"Are you _insane_? Would _you _'love, honor, and whatev'' this waste of human space?"

The world's fattest priest blinked.

"Geez, I'm here, aren't I? Isn't that enough evidence that I'm trying to marry him?"

"Uh…uh…and do you, Fredward Benson…same question?"

Freddie glared at the woman next to him and shuddered. "I do."

"Then by the power vested in me by-"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, can we just suck face?"

The world's fattest priest threw his hands in the air. "'Whatev''!"

"You'd think they would've been sick of each other by now," Carly whispered to Spencer. "Neither one has ever kissed _anyone _else…unless you count the Melanie incident."

"Dude, I didn't even know they were dating, and suddenly there's a wedding? I mean, I thought they hated each other!"

"Oh, they do," Carly said matter-of-factly. "And they never dated. They just…I don't know, frequently screw each other senseless or something."

"Hmm." Spencer grimaced. "Pleasant."

* * *

Freddie loved Carly.

Carly did not love Freddie.

Freddie hated Sam.

Sam hated Freddie.

Freddie's hatred for Sam was greater than his love for Carly.

And thus.

**The End**


End file.
